Clouds had begun to form outside and we knew that we were in for some rain, but no matter. We were about to see Jimmy Page.

So Erika dressed herself up as a rather feminine Page. Ann, determined not to be Plant, became Death (you know from the Neil Gaiman Sandman stories). Ana was Bonzo again (we said our pleasant good byes to the corny Mr. Led Zeppelin). I returned to Jones, and Esther was Miss Cinderella or some such groupie, and Jo had some equally groupie-ish qualities about her. The guys, well, they wore something. Etc., er, I mean Andrew, did not wear his Peter Grant shirt and we were all disappointed.

So we piled back into the Starship and headed off. I recall Jones saying something like, "Remember I-80 turns off of the 80-294 combination. However, luckily, Harper and Grant decided to ignore Jones and took the long way north (instead of west). We paid an extra toll and went half an hour north until we turned around to go half an hour south again, but it was worth it because what did we see?? We SAW two speeding slick black limos heading toward the concert and we realized why the cop cars were cursing the highway. They were watching out for Jimmy Page and the Black Crowes, making sure that they got to the concert on time. We didn't even bother to wave, we just dropped our jaws and babbled inaudibly as we watched them pass. We suddenly wished that we had taken the time to write Starship on the outside of our transport. Jimmy would have understood. We had not done so because we were afraid that we would be pulled aside and drug searched by the Illinois po-lice.

All of that is to say this; we got to the concert. Well, the rain had begun, and it rained. It downpoured. It monsooned. We stepped out of our Starship and into a swimming pool, but we didn't mind. Anything for Jimmy.

Well, that rain was not the warm bath water that we had hoped for. It was cold. Three of us, who had lawn seats, bought blankets. And that is how we four on the lawn became known as the disgruntled indians, for that is what we looked like in our soaked indian blankets.

We indians swam around in the mud and rain for about two hours while those other four luckies sat under the more expensive pavilion. However, the rain did gust under and chill them a bit. Well, we disgruntles weren't going to let them ignore us so we gave a little Robert Plant call that goes something like this, "MO MO MO MO!" (Refer to the Wearing and Tearing video, Paris '69). They responded with a look and realized the disgrutledness of the indians on the lawn. They gave a Led call resemblant of Immigrant Song. Next we shouted, "Mirror Mirror on the wall, who's the funniest of them all?" We expected a reply, but they couldn't think of one fast enough. One things for sure, they weren't the answer. "That was a question, dammit!"

So finally Kenny Wayne Shepherd came on stage and played us some tunes. He ended with some Jimi Hendrix montaged and that was a lot of fun. The Disgruntles took bathroom breaks and returned to anxiously await the appearance of Jimmy Page (and the Black Crowes). The rain was still monsooning.

You Better You Bet played a few notes over the sound system and I got excited. I almost started to sing and bounce when suddenly the music shut off, the lights went out and the crowd grew quieter with anticipation. Suddenly an eruption of screaming and whooping went up from the audience as Jimmy Page and the Black Crowes entered the stage! "Jimmy! Jimmy!" We shouted. We screamed. I was careful not to allow myself to go hoarse, after all the big concert was yet to come, tomorrow night. Jimmy wore his button up black shirt with the two dragons climbing up the side and black pants. Chris Robinson wore flared jeans and a baggy black T-shirt.

They started up their first song right away, "Custard Pie." I don't really recall the play list because I was so frozen that I was very near passing out from cold, wet.. and shock. I remember that I came to about four songs in when they played "Misty Mountain Hop." I took off my blanket and danced in the rain. It was the most exciting experience. After MMH I put the blanket back on, but continued to move. I think that I bent myself in half backwards, forwards, side to side, everywhich way. My hips came out of joint from it and the pain added to my feeling of nearly passing out. I'm terribly sorry that I can't remember much from the concert. I remember that I felt like I was going to die. Then they played "Ten Years Gone." Wow. I went numb. We listened. We gaped. We nearly drowned because of the rain flooding our gaping mouths. We didn't breathe. We prayed silently for the souls around us and for those on stage. We cried. In the words of Ann Plant, "There were parts in 'Ten Years Gone' that I don't even remember." The song faded out and delirium was upon me. I was in a trance-like stare for the rest of the concert. I remember watching Jimmy's fingers on the big screen and thinking, "Wow, my eyes can't keep up with him. He's too fast." It was really amazing. I had never realized just how excellent a guitarist Jimmy Page is.

Ah yes, ah yes, I do remember a few more moments of consciousness. I nearly died from excitement when Jimmy stroked his guitar and raised his hands outward summoning the spirit from the Les Paul. I couldn't believe my eyes. I never thought that I would actually see Jimmy Page summon the Les Paul. He brought out the theramine and waved his hand like the Wizard of Rock and Roll. The chords ebbed in and out, in and out. He kept doing it and he kept strumming and working magic with the feedback. I shouted at the top of my lungs, "I can't believe that I am watching Jimmy Page fornicate with his guitar on stage, right now!!" If MMH was the most exciting experience of the concert and "Ten Years Gone" was the most spiritual, this was the most mouth gaping, heart stopping, I-can't-believe-I'm-here experience.

The electric organist had the most lovely solo introducing "Your Time Is Gonna Come." I think that I may have said, "Nice Organist!" or something equally bootsy during his loveliness. I'd love to hear it again. That was definitely my Sven moment of the concert. He wasn't Jones, and he didn't pretend to be, but he was mesmerizing and beautiful. I have since learned that his name is Eddie Harsh, but I occasionally still refer to him fondly as Organist Crowe.

Speaking of pretending… That Chris Robinson fellow had a grand time pretending to be Robert Plant. He did a lot of the famous moves. Yet, he did not do the hand motions and so he is forgiven. After all, whoever gets a chance to play with Jimmy Page in a Led Zeppelin moment is allowed to play pretend. He's living what the rest of us only fantasize!

They played something slow and sleepy and no one can quite remember what it was, but then they left the stage. We all woke up and said, "NOOO." And we said, "JIMMY!" We shouted and wailed and cried and screamed for him to come back. And he did. They came back and played the most butt ultimate version of Whole Lotta Love. I mean, I can't speak because I never heard Led do it with Robert, but I think that Chris Robinson aka Chris Crowe was right on. So the Black Crowes and Jimmy Page fornicated with the audience. The hip gyrations moved throughout the whole crowd and everyone was energized and satisfied and in love with Jimmy Page and the Black Crowes. It was the end, and they left. We sighed communally and could say no more.

Gathered together again, we wandered around with our gimp Erika-Jimmy. She was Svened out of consciousness. Translation: she was overwhelmed from seeing her butt ultimate favorite person perform live. We helped her gimp around to the stage where we learned that Jimmy Page had left just five minutes after the performance. We hauled our disgruntled sopping indian messes back to the Starship and traveled back to the hotel for a night with Uncle Jimmy and his Crowe nephews.